Late for Bingo

Books by M K Scott

The Talking Dog Detective Agency

Cozy Mystery

A Bark in the Night

Requiem for a Rescue Dog Queen

Bark Twice for Danger

The Ghostly Howl

Dog Park Romeo 2/14/19

The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries Series

Culinary Cozy Mystery

Murder Mansion

Drop Dead Handsome

Killer Review

Christmas Calamity

Death Pledges a Sorority

Caribbean Catastrophe

Weddings Can be Murder

The Skeleton Wore Diamonds

Death of a Honeymoon

The Way Over the Hill Gang Series

Cozy Mystery

Late for Dinner

Late for Bingo

Late for Bingo

By

M K Scott

Copyright © 2018 MK Scott

Smashwords Edition

This eBook is licensed for personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person. Please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and didn’t purchase it, or was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Many thanks for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author.

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

Table of Contents

Books by M K Scott

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Excerpt from Dog Park Romeo

Author Notes

Chapter One

Excited chatter and a few whoops of joy came from the activity room. However, the aircraft carrier gray walls of the center didn’t shout fun. Most of Gus’s friends would be inside, gripping their bingo dabbers as the activity director called out numbers with all the solemnity of an awards show. Due to the residents’ need for something to do, they had bingo five days a week. With the frequency of the play, the prizes had diminished from containers of candy, monogramed handkerchiefs with initials that worked for no one, and bath sets, to donations from residents, which often included crocheted tissue box covers and second-hand books. Still, it was the thrill of being a winner which made you important for about five seconds. Such was his life now.

Someone had put up a sign in the hallway that featured a kitten wearing a hat that read, Don’t worry. Be happy. He wasn’t sure who was their inspirational poster person. Whoever it was, it annoyed the heck out of him. Depending on his mood, he sometimes pulled down the posters when no one was around.

The sigh escaped before he could stop it. He hated the sound. It made him as sad and pathetic as the residents who sat on the front porch to catch a glimpse of the families who came to visit the lucky few inside. Never for him. He was almost at the point that he forgot he had a son, except Daniel had put him here—in the home—so he would be safe. That was his word, not Gus’s. Safe made it sound like there was a war going on in his modest, quiet neighborhood. Wars, he knew. He’d been an explosives expert back in the day, one of the courageous who not only unearthed the mines, but disabled them, too. Unfortunately, many of his fellow explosive ordinance buddies didn’t make it back.

In that regard, he was the lucky one.

A familiar feminine voice sounded. There you are.

He turned to greet Lola. The aging, former showgirl leaned on her walker, but still managed to bring a spark of life to the place with her glittery outfits and often outrageous quips. Yep.

She motioned in the direction of the activity room. Glad you’re not in there. I’m betting Eunice and Herman are. Marcy asked me to round up the team. She’s received some new cases from her gentleman friend and former partner.

Lola placed her hands over her heart and batted her eyelashes, possibly implying there was a relationship between Marcy and her former police partner. Anyone with eyes and common sense would know that. Men didn’t show up just to visit. Certainly not as often as Marcy’s previous partner did.

Did you say case?

That’s right, bucko. She gave him a little push. Go extract Herman and Eunice and any other team member you might find in there. I know you are much better at that type of thing as a decorated veteran.

He chuckled, giving her a broad wink. I can see through your machinations. As far as I know, being a Vegas showgirl when the place was Sin City—not the family friendly version it is now—may have been a lot like being in combat.

I gotta agree. Sometimes, I did more dancing to get away from groping hands than I did on stage. She shook her head. You’re still going to get them for me, right?

You know me. Of course I am.

Good. We’ll meet outside on the patio. She winked. We’re using our garden club cover.

Got it. He gave her a thumbs up.

His earlier malaise vanished as he waded into the bingo room. He saw Herman first, tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the door. Since they had served in the war together, they had learned to communicate without words. Eunice was a different matter.

The wiry, senior citizen had several cards spread out in front of her and was dabbing madly each time a number was called. Instead of responding to his shoulder taps, she shook him off like an annoying insect, until her head pivoted, and she caught sight of who was annoying her.

Leave me be. Can’t you see I’m winning? I’m one space away on every card. She held up her hands, both gripping a bingo dabber, and waved them. I can just feel it.

It would be no easy task getting the competitive woman to leave. There’s a meeting of the garden club.

Pshaw. Eunice turned back to her card when another number was announced. It’s almost winter. Not sure why we’d be meeting. Useless? Next, you’ll probably tell me we’re meeting outside.

Well, actually they were, but saying so wouldn’t get the woman to move.

A blue-haired lady next to her nudged her. Go on. Spend some time with your boyfriend. You donated the prizes this round, anyhow. Do you want a book back you already read?

Good heavens! Eunice’s dabbers stopped a hair’s breadth from the cards. I did donate the prizes. They’re good books, but my memory is still sharp enough that I remember the killer. Thanks, Helen.

She capped her dabbers and divided her cards with her tablemates, who eagerly grabbed them. The two of them slipped out into the hall where it was much quieter. The farther away they walked, the easier it was to talk.

Gus repeated what he had said earlier. We are having a meeting of the garden club.

You can do better than that. She gave him a slight punch to the arm. I don’t mind spending time with you. Everyone already calls you my boyfriend, so there’s no need to make up silly excuses to see me, but it would be nice to have some forewarning. A social butterfly like myself can be very busy. I may have to squeeze you in between scrapbooking and Myrtle’s Dancing Poodles Extravaganza.

Sometimes it was hard to know if he should take her seriously. People thought he was the jokester of the bunch, but sometimes, he wondered if Eunice didn’t have them all beat, while she pretended to be absolutely serious. He wanted to complain about being labeled Eunice’s boyfriend, especially since Jake and he considered themselves the center’s local ladies’ men. Still, if life had taught him nothing, it had taught him that women thought more highly of a man who was taken. Even though bachelors thought of themselves as wild and crazy guys, women tended to view them as flawed because some woman hadn’t latched onto them.

Busy life. Hope you can schedule in a case. Marcy has some new cold cases her partner brought in.

His companion’s eyes lit up as she slapped her hands together at the news. Oh, goodie! This place can be a bit of a drag. I could use the excitement. Hope it’s a murder!

The comment made his eyes roll. Two residents who were coming toward them gave Eunice a second look. It didn’t mean they heard anything. It was more likely Eunice’s delighted expression confused them. Happiness wasn’t an everyday occurrence at the home unless it was employees going home for the day.

He waited until they passed before speaking. His friends had pointed out on more than one occasion that he tended to be loud when he spoke. Often, people mistakenly thought he was enthusiastic about something as opposed to just being loud, when in reality, hearing damage was a casualty of working with explosions.

When they turned the corner into a deserted corridor, his shoulders went back, and his chin uplifted. He was well aware he was delivering information Eunice didn’t know. Almost all cold cases are murders. Statute of limitations, ya know.

Statue of what? What does a statue have to do with murder? Did it fall on someone or more likely was it was pushed? I thought those things were bolted in place. If not, why aren’t they falling over all the time?

Eunice shook her head as if imagining a world where statues toppled in a strong breeze. Even though he knew better, Gus chuckled.

Eunice poked him. Smarty pants. Why don’t you tell me what it means?

Perfect. Just the opening he needed. I will. He tried not to smirk but failed since he got another poke. It was worth it to have one up on Eunice. The old gal was fairly sharp. Most folks found her irritating, possibly because she was usually right. She had a memory like a steel trap, which made him question her not knowing about statute of limitations.

He explained anyway. You see, it’s a rule about crimes and how long you can pursue them.

Eunice shook her head and held up a hand. Stop now. I can’t take it. Not sure how ordinary women do this crap.

Sometimes women just plain baffled him. He stumbled to a stop and arched his bushy brows. Stop what?

Mansplaining as if I didn’t have two wits to rub together. I know what the statute of limitations is on murder. In most states it is usually ninety-nine years. They often say there is no limit, but let’s face it. People don’t live forever. Even those rare few who lived to be over a hundred didn’t commit crimes, when they were infants or children. If they did, I guess they get a pass. It would be hard to believe someone would put a hundred plus man in jail.

I noticed you didn’t say woman. Gus was a little irritated. The pride he’d felt at knowing something Eunice didn’t know had been wasted. Why would she do such a thing? He wanted to ask, but he wouldn’t. Asking would show that she got to him. No one got to Gus.

Ha! She made a derisive sniff. Like that would happen. Women don’t go out mindlessly killing. They have to have a reason, a plan, and an alibi. With women, it’s usually a long game. A woman might be in a horrible marriage. Instead of telling everyone, she puts on a good face and gradually feeds her husband miniscule amounts of arsenic in his favorite snack. In a matter of years, he dies, helped along by the macho bravado that he doesn’t need to see any stinking doctor.

What about an autopsy?

Eunice turned to beam at him. Why should there be one when the man died peacefully in his sleep. Besides, it’s usually the relatives who ask for an autopsy. She winked. Long game.

Whoa. He might want to rethink his ideas about ever re-marrying. Even though he’d never admit it to his friends, he was pro-marriage. He’d had a good one, and at least his dear departed wife had never tried to kill him, which was always a definite plus in a relationship. Still, he knew a few things. Plenty of women are arrested all the time.

Yeah. She added a sage nod. They made the mistake of trusting men.

He wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Luckily the two glass doors leading to the courtyard area were up ahead, saving him from discussion. He pointed, as if Eunice couldn’t see the obvious. There’s the doors.

I know. I wish I’d stopped by and got my sweater, Eunice complained.

You’re wearing a sweater.

My second sweater. It’s heavier. I just wear this one because it has pockets. So few of women’s clothes have pockets.

That’s just stupid. Gus held the door open for Eunice.

As she walked through, she spoke. I totally agree. Not sure who designs these clothes. Wait! I got it. Men!

Obviously, men were responsible for all the ills in the world, from murderous women having to kill off their spouses to the same women being caught, and even the inconvenience of not having pockets. I’m sure those prison jumpsuits have pockets.

What are you talking about?

Never mind.

Eunice rushed forward to greet Jake, Lola, Herman, and Marcy as if she hadn’t seen them in years as opposed to at breakfast. As for Herman, he’d just left bingo a few minutes before Eunice.

The walk had felt closer to an hour to Gus. He’d had to crawl underneath the verbal barbwire Eunice freely strung out, just to trip him up and prove once again that men were the problem of everything that went wrong in the world.

Marcy spun her wheelchair around to face the incoming folks. The detective had suffered a horrible accident while chasing a criminal, and the perp had stopped long enough to shoot her while she lay unconscious in the wreckage. The accident had not only shattered her leg, but the head injuries had the doctors opting for an induced coma. That was months ago. Now the woman was alert and helping solve cold cases with her trusted band of helpers. Sometimes, Gus thought the cases helped them more than they ever helped the recovering detective.

All right, Eunice announced and held her hands up for attention. We’re all here. Marcy has important information. We need to listen fast, so we can go inside the nice, warm building. She dropped her hands and chafed her arms, emphasizing the chill.

It’s almost fifty, Herman pointed out. Warm for December. Besides, the sun is shining. Fresh air would do you good.

Of course, a man would say that. Your gender is warmer blooded than the females. Eunice cast a critical eye on Herman.

People, Marcy clapped her hands together. This would go faster if you would listen.

Herman and Eunice closed their mouths, although there may have been a rebellious flash in a pair of eyes.

Go on, Lola encouraged with a wave of her beringed hand. We’re all listening now.

Good. Marcy held up a file. I picked out a case I’m sure will hit you right in the heart. Over ten years ago, a widowed mother, Theresa Lopez, was robbed in her home and murdered. Money she’d been saving to buy her daughter, Isabelle, a second-hand car was missing.

The questions came fast.

The money was in the house? Lola asked before anyone else could. It should have been in the bank.

Marcy consulted her notes. She told her daughter that morning that when she got home from school, they would go looking at some cars the mother had located through one of those auto sales newspapers. They had twenty-eight hundred dollars to spend.

Not going to get much of a car for that today, Jake commented. It was over ten years ago, though, so maybe that would be more like four thousand today.

Who did the police think did it? Herman asked the obvious question.

"They assumed it was drifter, junkie, an opportunistic robber, or possibly someone who knew